


The shadow of light

by eldritcher



Series: The Song of Sunset Third Age [3]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 06:32:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 20,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4009492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritcher/pseuds/eldritcher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She sailed to the white shores to find peace and healing. But Celebrían discovers that Valinor is not the paradise that the elves of Middle-Earth imagined it to be. Pregnant, lonely and frightened, what can she do to bring a measure of hope to the land?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The shadow of light

“Land…”She whispered reverently as her fingers curled around the smooth rope railings of the deck.

 

The gulls hovered above them reminding her of the kites her father had helped her fly in her childhood. The scent of the sea assailed her senses, tangy and saline. She took a deep breath, smiling as her hair danced in the strong wind. From her vantage point on the deck, she could see a neat, white strip to the west.

 

“Ulmo has been kind.” Her maid spoke softly, as if reluctant to encroach upon her solitude.

 

“Indeed he has.” She smiled at the young woman who had proved herself a veritable treasure over the long, arduous voyage.

 

“Would you wish to rest, Lady Celebrían?” The woman asked concernedly as Celebrían moved her hand unconsciously over her concave stomach.

 

“No,” Celebrían replied, “I wish to be on deck when the ship draws into the harbour.”

 

“It will be yet another day or two, my lady.” The woman tried to suppress the smile that threatened to curl her lips.

 

Celebrían laughed saying, “I am ignorant. I admit it! Please do call me when we pull into the harbour. I wish to be on deck then.”

 

“As you wish, my lady.”

 

×××

 

How she wished that she had remained within her cabin! All about her, the elves were shouting and running about as they steered the ship into the harbour. The harbour of Alqualondë, which she had heard of only in Glorfindel’s tales. Her mother had never spoken of it.

 

Her right hand fluttered over her stomach even as her left hand clung to the ropes. She could see a large throng of elves waiting impatiently on the quay. There was a clang as the elves worked to lower the anchor. The hull of the ship shook mightily and Celebrían gasped in shock as the boards jolted beneath her feet.

 

They began to disembark; high, excited voices chattered in a lively mix of languages as enthusiastic welcomes resounded in the harbour. Celebrían felt unease flicker in her heart as she stepped forward. She knew none. None would come to greet her. Her father had assured her that many of his kinsmen who had sailed after the War of Wrath would welcome her. He had provided her with letters of introduction to them. Scarce news had come from the west in recent times and Celeborn was unable to contact his kinsmen and have her received by them. She was alone.

 

Each step that she descended down the side of the ship killed her faltering courage by a notch. Taking a deep breath, she let herself be helped into a boat that would carry them to land.

 

The Telerin sailors who helped her were quiet as they rowed towards the harbour. Excited murmurs rose in the crowd as a dozen soldiers made their way through the throng. Noldor, Celebrían noted uneasily as her mind reverted to the tales of the past. She was lost in her thoughts as the boat pulled alongside the planks that led to the harbour. The Telerin sailors helped her stand in the slightly swaying boat. Her maid took her hand and pulled her up to the planks.

 

She had landed.

 

“Your kinsman has sent an escort to seek you.” One of the sober Telerin sailors came to her side and placed her travelling box at her feet.

 

She frowned in incomprehension. Kinsman? She knew none here except for Melorian, provided her friend had made land. Did her father manage to send word to anyone?

 

“My Lady.”

 

The captain of the soldiers strode towards her and knelt on a single knee. Celebrían looked at him befuddled.

 

He met her gaze and laughed saying, “I forget that those across the sea do not follow our quaint traditions. Allow me.” He took her right hand gently and pressed his lips on the skin with chaste loyalty.

 

Celebrían laughed despite her inner turmoil and said, “These traditions are not followed across the sea. Do forgive me for my confusion.”

 

“You shall have time and more to accustom yourself to our boring ways. Eru knows, the King’s court is grounded on these traditions.” The captain smiled and took her hand, leading her away from the throng.

 

“The King?” Celebrían asked quietly, her instincts rising in alarmed comprehension. “Do you mean The Noldor High-King?”

 

“And your grandfather!” The soldier added happily. “There shall be rejoicing and revelry in the court, my lady! The king is overjoyed at the prospect of receiving his beloved daughter’s child into his household!”

 

“Excuse me, I must leave.” The words rushed out of her mouth incoherently. “I cannot come with you, Captain.”

 

Without heeding his surprised exclamation, she ran back to the throng of people that still crowded the harbour. She looked over her shoulder. The soldiers were staring at her in plain befuddlement. But they made no move to pursue her. Gratefully, she leant back against a pole and tried to even her breathing. One of her hands moved over her stomach unconsciously as the memories flooded her.

 

She shook her head angrily and whispered to herself, “I hate her. I have no mother.”

 

×××

 

She lingered on the harbour, watching the bustling activities of the sailors. Dusk was fast approaching. The maid had been received by her family and escorted home. The young woman had timidly asked Celebrían to accompany them. But she had refused politely. She would search for her father’s kinsmen.

 

Nightfall found her at the same harbour, weary and drawn. Lack of sustenance was telling on her body and soul. More than that, fear was rising in her. She had not managed to find any of her father’s acquaintances yet. Some of the older Telerin inhabitants had offered to take her to the Sindarin settlements at dawn the next day. Maybe there she would find her kinsmen. Some had offered her lodging for the night. But she had refused, wanting to find someone she knew.

 

If Finarfin had received news of her arrival, then would not Melorian too have known of it? Why had Finarfin sent soldiers to escort her? Whatever had made him presume she would consent?

 

Her fingers moved nervously over her womb as she lost herself in thoughts, watching the stars twinkle down on the sea.

 

×××

 

“It is not wise to spend such a cold night under the stars,” a soft voice spoke quietly.

 

She turned exasperatedly to reassure the speaker that she was fine. She had not counted on the fact that the Teleri race was basically kind. Every few moments, an elf would come and beseech her to seek proper lodgings. She had sent them away with reassurances that she was merely waiting for her friends to seek her.

 

The latest welfare enquiry was from someone who looked distinctly un-Telerin. Golden hair framed the handsome face. Warm blue eyes met her gaze frankly. No deception in them. Tall, well-built and exceedingly handsome in a manner that reminded her of Glorfindel. Vanyarin blood, she decided absently.

 

But the blue eyes reminded her of someone else too. Of a woman she hated beyond all boundaries of being. She inhaled sharply as she noticed the slightly protruding cheekbones of the elf.

 

He did not have all the characteristics that marked his family. But she knew enough to identify a descendant of Finwë when she saw one.

 

“Lord High-King.” Celebrían spoke stiffly, averting her gaze in defiance.

 

He raised his hands to cup her cheeks. She stiffened and pushed the hands away.

 

“I see that you dislike me.” He spoke in a tone of quiet sadness.

 

Celebrían corrected him automatically, “I don’t dislike you. I hate you.”

 

“Would you come with me this night? I shall take you to your father’s kin tomorrow. Please, the docks are no place for a princess.” His earnest tone reminded her of her own father. There was no deception.

 

She was tired, hungry and weak. Her fingers moved over her womb once more and that decided it. She nodded shakily. He did not speak again. Instead he led her to a waiting carriage and saw her settled comfortably on the cushions.

 

As he was about to close the door behind him, she said softly, “Aren’t you coming?”

 

“I will not cause you unease with my presence.”

 

He seemed uncertain and worried, qualities she had never seen in her mother before. Perhaps that was what caused the thawing in her heart. She knew instinctively that he would never be as cold-blooded and ruthless as Galadriel or Erestor was. He was like Celebrían. They were both burdened with the expectations of a remarkable family and had failed to reach those levels.

 

“Please, my lord, it is of no unease to me,” she said sincerely.

 

He smiled, his features lighting up in pure joy. Nodding, he took a seat across her and the carriage began moving.

 

“Do you usually travel by carriage?” she asked curiously.

 

None of the elves she knew travelled so. Perhaps it was a Valinorean tradition. Then she thought of Glorfindel and Galadriel. Their equestrian skills proved undoubtedly that they had spent their youth riding and hunting.

 

“I do.” He shifted uneasily and met her eyes for a moment before looking away. Then he cleared his throat and spoke, “I have never held a fancy for riding or hunting. Your father is a skilled huntsman, is he not? You resemble him very much.”

 

“Have you met him?” she asked curiously.

 

He nodded saying, “During the War of Wrath. I had the honour of meeting your father once. But my interactions with the Sindarin armies were mainly confined to meetings with Lord Oropher, your father’s cousin.”

 

“I was in Lindon.” Celebrían did not know for the life of her why she had made that statement.

 

“I know.” He met her eyes regretfully. “I wished to come. But your mother did not consent.”

 

“Melorian?” She asked earnestly, concern for her friend and dislike of speaking about her mother making her change the subject.

 

He smiled and spoke reassuringly, “Well enough. I suspect that my coddling has made her quite weary of my company. She wished to come. But I was adamant that I speak with you first.”

 

“You could have come directly instead of sending those soldiers.” The words escaped her before she had time to think. Hastily, she said, “I apologize. That was uncalled for.”

 

He shook his head and said, “I prefer not to come to the docks. You see,” his blue eyes bored into her own with powerful intensity, “they remind me of a young daughter who slew an elf to save her father’s life. I did not know until it was too late. I cursed my brothers for drawing her into their web of doom. I did not know that I myself had been her doom.”

 

With a sigh, he shook his head and averted his gaze to the latticed windows. Celebrían remained motionless, her hands clasped in her lap. She had not known. She suppressed a flinch as a vivid image rose in her mind.

 

A young woman stood in the midst of the melee, her fair features stricken as she saw the bloodletting all around her. Her eyes were now on her father who was fighting with a Telerin sailor. She opened her mouth to shout a warning as another Telerin elf advanced behind him, with sword drawn in clear intent. Her father would not be able to deflect it, she knew instinctively. She ran to their side…and in one cursed moment it was done. Her pristine white dress was gorily decorated with crimson. She shrieked and lifted her hands to cup her mouth. The fight was intensifying. She swallowed and wrenched the sword from the fallen body. She would not die here.

 

“Are you alright?” her companion’s solicitous question brought Celebrían back to her surroundings.

 

She smiled shakily and asked him an inane question about life in Valinor. He leant forward and began to explain it enthusiastically. Seeing his engrossment with his narrative, Celebrían decided that it was safe to let her thoughts fly free.

 

She had no doubt of what she had seen. The gift of foresight was her mother’s curse. But Celebrían had never experienced it herself. This was not foresight. This was from the past, her mother’s past. Celebrían wished unhappily that her father had been here. She would have run to him and buried her face in his chest. He would smooth away her worries and fears with that melodious voice.

 

×××

 

“’BRIA!”

 

Melorian’s voice woke her to her first Valinorean morning. Coming back to awareness, she saw a beautiful woman clad in a pale green silken gown. A blissful smile broke on Celebrían’s features as she fell forward happily into her friend’s embrace. To breathe in the faint scent of her friend grounded her for the moment.

 

Melorian stepped back and then seated herself by the side of the bed, her brown eyes watching her friend in deep concern.

 

Celebrían settled beside her and asked quietly, “Are you well?”

 

The last she had seen Melorian, her friend had resembled a living corpse pining for Glorfindel.

 

“As fine as sunshine.” Melorian laughed and clasped her hands. “And you?”

 

“Well enough,” Celebrían lied through her teeth.

 

She was frightened and exhausted by the sudden change in her circumstances. The headstrong woman who had been adamant in sailing west had disappeared leaving behind a frightened soul.

 

“Come.” Melorian rose to her feet gracefully. “I will take you to the dining chamber. You must tell me all that has happened!”

 

Thus it was that Celebrían found herself seated between Finarfin and Melorian at a small, circular dining table. Across her sat a woman of great beauty. Celebrían admired the clear Noldorin features before she realized the identity of the woman.

 

“My mother, Carnilote.” Melorian introduced the woman, a small tinge of unease passing over her features that were uncannily identical to her mother’s.

 

Finarfin cut in saying, “I trust you rested well, Lady Celebrían?”

 

“I would be grateful if you called me by my name,” Celebrían spoke embarrassedly.

 

Finarfin smiled in acknowledgment.

 

Melorian leant forward and asked Celebrían, “What news of my little brother? I miss him so.”

 

Celebrían felt that familiar pang of unease as she thought of Erestor. Carnilote too had now leant forward and was awaiting her answer with ill-disguised eagerness.

 

“He is well, as are Elrond and Thranduil.” Celebrían began nervously. “They remain as bound by friendship as they always were. Elladan and Elrohir have grown and have proved themselves as excellent warriors. As has Laiqua Thranduillion.”

 

“Does my son resemble his father?” Carnilote asked quietly, her voice shaking in fearful anticipation. “I saw him but once after he was born. But I sensed that he had his father’s spirit.”

 

Celebrían closed her eyes to control her turbulent emotions. Finarfin cleared his throat and murmured that she did not have to speak if it caused her unease.

 

“I am fine,” she said unconvincingly. Her eyes met Carnilote's as she continued bravely, “Lord Erestor bears a striking resemblance to his father. Many have remarked upon it. But Elrond has always held that Erestor has Maedhros’s spirit. He would have known them well, I daresay.”

 

Melorian cut in saying, “Erestor’s more or less like Galadriel, mother. Filled with politics, strategy and diplomacy.”

 

Finarfin cleared his throat and returned to his breakfast. But Celebrían could see the hurt in his blue eyes. He still loved his daughter; that was writ on every line of his face.

 

“My father is a wise soul. I cannot imagine him falling in love with her merely because she was a strategist. She must be a truly wonderful woman to capture and keep my father’s regard all these years.”

 

Celebrían knew that she had chosen the right words as an expression of profound gratitude rose on Finarfin’s features. She smiled. She had spoken the truth. Of course, she had comfortably omitted the sordid tales that littered her parents’ eventful marriage. Melorian’s discreet cough reminded her that at least one more person at the table knew the true story.

 

×××

 

"I take it that you wish to travel to your father's kinsmen?" Carnilote asked her.

 

"I wish to." Celebrían halted speaking as Finarfin came into chamber. An expression of quiet contentment shone on his features as he took in her form.

 

"Would you consent to walk with me, Celebrían?" he asked her quietly, his face betraying hope.

 

Celebrían smiled and accepted his arm. Probably, she thought absently, he had received news of her Sindar kin. As much as she pitied him and wished to spend time with Melorian, she did not want to stay in a place filled with memories of her mother. She did not want her child to be born into a house lost in the past.

 

"I did send word to the Sindar towns. They would be glad to have you amongst them, of course. Lord Celeborn is a revered prince."

 

Finarfin's words brought a smile to her features. A smile accompanied by a small pang of regret. His jubilation at her arrival would be snuffed out soon. A part of her desperately wished that he would find a measure of happiness. He deserved to. Would her presence help him? The birth of a child might renew hope...She frowned. This was her mother's father. She hated her mother. She would not deign to help Galadriel's father.

 

"Thank you, for taking the pains to see me settled." She replied sincerely.

 

"I could not have done less," he said sadly, "She did beg me to."

 

"What?" Celebrían stopped walking, her instincts rising in comprehension as she met his sorrow-filled gaze.

 

He cleared his throat nervously and handed her two scrolls. She opened it with trembling fingers. She knew immediately that her mother's interference would never cease in her life. Galadriel had always planned ahead.

 

“ Lothlorien.

 

To The High-King of The Noldor of Tirion,

 

I would beg you to take in my daughter. I have done wrong by her terribly. She sails because of all that I have wrought upon her life. If you would find it in you to forgive me, please take in my child.

 

Maybe a part of me remains the daughter you loved?

Galadriel."

 

"Whatever she does, I will love her." Finarfin said quietly, "But I have never deserved her pardon. I was, and I remain, a coward. I ran away."

 

"So did I." Celebrían said shakily as she thought of her sons, "Perhaps even cowardice can be forgiven if we endeavour to conquer it."

 

"I do not believe so. I was left to regret, repent and watch what I had wrought upon my family." He motioned towards the second scroll. “This letter was addressed to you.”

 

"To my daughter,

 

You have always despised my interference and rightly so. I would beg of you one more sacrifice. Grace my father’s halls with your presence. Maybe your purity can remove my taint from those pathways.

 

May you find peace.

Galadriel.”

 

“She must persist in interfering in my life,” Celebrían said dully as she folded the parchment.

 

“Would you stay with me?” Finarfin asked quietly, his eyes lingering on his daughter’s words to him. “I cannot give you what your Sindar kinsmen probably can. But if you would stay, I would do my very best to see you happy.”

 

“For her sake?” Celebrían asked hollowly, “People have always judged me by her measure and found me wanting.”

 

“People have always judged me by my brothers’ measures and found me wanting.” He shrugged. “It is not given to everyone to be remarkable. We have to do what we can and make our peace with what we are. No, Celebrían. I do not ask you to stay for my daughter’s sake. You are my granddaughter and it is your right to stay with me. I would be very grateful if you did.”

 

“I will stay.” Her fingers moved over her belly. “But I must beg you to ask no questions about my life.”

 

“I give you my word,” he said sincerely.

 

Celebrían turned to face him. His clear blue eyes were sparkling in happiness as he said softly, “Thank you.”

 

“Grandfather.” She said quietly as she embraced him.

 

Hands came about her, careful not to jar against her stomach. She rested her head against her grandfather’s chest and closed her eyes wearily. Safe in his arms, she could forget everything. She could pretend that she had never being pawned for a political alliance by her own mother. But not even Valinor could undo all that had happened.*

 

×××

* * *

Celebrían walked aimlessly in the gardens thinking about life in her grandfather’s household. Unlike the courts she had seen in Middle-Earth, Finarfin’s reign was dull and boring. There were no political intrigues or conspiracies at court. Finarfin was a weak ruler and let his nobles do what they thought best in most cases. Celebrían could not for the life of her imagine Galadriel or Erestor or Thranduil allowing the nobles such leeway. Even in the Sylvan realm of Lothlorien, Galadriel had succeeded in consolidating her rule.

 

“I find life here monotonous after the hustle and bustle of Middle-Earth.” Carnilote joined Celebrían in her perambulations around the gardens.

 

“So do I.” Celebrían agreed with a smile. “How do you manage to cope with this slow pace of things?”

 

“I like a monotonous life, truth be said.” Carnilote laughed sincerely. “The relative security that Valinor offers cannot be underestimated.”

 

“Middle-Earth, for all its failings, had its moments of happiness.” Celebrían contradicted her. “I cannot see the people of Valinor enjoying the gifts they have been blessed with: prosperity, peace and security. What more is required to make a kingdom happy? Those across the sea still manage to find joy despite their harsh circumstances.”

 

“So I have observed.” Carnilote conceded. “Those in Middle-Earth are capable of finding hope even in the darkest hour. Perhaps it is their vast experience of what life has to offer that makes them so optimistic.”

 

“It is not fair that those of Valinor live their lives without comprehending their blessings.” Celebrían repeated once more.

 

“Maybe you could tell them that?” Carnilote laughed, though not unkindly.

 

×××

 

She would often accompany her grandfather for trips out of Tirion. She enjoyed these journeys. They would sit across each other in the carriage and talk incessantly about the affairs at court. With Finarfin, she had no need to think before she spoke. He had an innate talent to accept and analyze criticism.

 

“Your wife,” Celebrían began a subject that she had been timid to raise before, “She does not stay with you.”

 

“Those of our house have always been plagued by desires unnatural to morality.” Finarfin sighed as he met her gaze.

 

Celebrían wisely held her tongue. She knew how it was to deeply desire someone unsuitable. That was a part of what she was trying to forget.

 

“I take it that she did not tell you about that facet of our doom?” Finarfin asked cautiously, certainly unwilling to intrude upon her boundaries.

 

“No.” Celebrían decided to repay honesty with honesty. “I was never much close to my mother. We had few interests in common.”

 

Finarfin nodded saying, “She was always reserved as compared to her exuberant siblings and cousins.”

 

Celebrían did not reply. She found that she did not wish to hear anymore about the woman whom she hated so deeply. The image Finarfin had painted was that of a dutiful daughter. It did not match the woman Celebrían had come to despise and pity.

 

×××

 

“Where does the road lead to?” She asked curiously as she noticed a broad, deserted pathway that lay to their north.

 

“To the north of the Mountains of Valinor, ‘Bria.” Finarfin cleared his throat and reached across her to pull down the curtains.

 

“Mandos.” She whispered softly.

 

Finarfin’s expression was hidden to her in the darkness within the carriage. But she could hear the increase in his breathing rate as he said brusquely, “You are right. The path leads to Mandos.”

 

×××

 

“My father,” Melorian began quietly as she walked with Celebrían in the gardens, “He sailed west shortly after I did. So I was told. The ship had to face the wrath of the Valar, a terrible storm.” Celebrían looped her arm through her friend’s in a silent gesture of comfort as Melorian’s voice broke.

 

“They were buffeted by the winds in a northerly direction. They lost an elf overboard that night.” Melorian turned to bury her face in her friend’s shoulder and hot tears stung Celebrían’s skin. “They lost my father overboard.”

 

×××

 

“I appealed to Varda,” Finarfin said quietly as he helped Celebrían into the carriage. “She was not forthcoming about the matter. I gave up hope. I did not what to do. As I told you, I am a coward. I feared to pursue the enquiries. I did not think that I would have the courage to hear the truth of what had happened to him.”

 

“Now you have the courage, grandfather?” Celebrían asked quietly as the carriage travelled to Taniquetil.

 

“I do not think I have the courage to face it, ‘Bria. But I have you,” Finarfin said forcefully as he gripped her hands in his own. “Your coming has heralded hope, my child.”

 

Celebrían controlled her urge to blush like a little girl who has received the first compliment in her life. She parted her lips to exclaim a protest to his fanciful statement. But the depth of sincerity in his deep blue gaze disarmed her. She smiled and squeezed his hands in a gesture of acceptance.

 

“We will find out what happened to him, grandfather. I swear to it by all that I love and respect,” she said determinedly.

 

He blanched and said in a stricken tone, “Please, ‘Bria, never take an oath! The fates are cruel to those who swear. I would not survive another oath.”

 

She shook her head saying with an easy smile, “It is not too hard an oath, grandfather.”

 

×××

 

“I cannot help you, King Arafinwë,” Eonwë said politely as he received the King of the Noldor. “Lord Manwë has forbidden any mention of those condemned in these hallowed halls.”

 

Finarfin nodded in resignation and stepped back. But Celebrían persisted, “Please, My Lord. I beg you.”

 

Eonwë raised his eyebrows before saying softly, “Who is the woman, Arafinwë?”

 

“My granddaughter, Celebrían.” Finarfin made the introduction warily.

 

“The daughter of Artanis herself!” Eonwë laughed in amusement. “I did not expect that you would be as bold as to come here, Lady Celebrían. I suppose I should not be surprised. After all, you are your mother’s daughter!”

 

That broke something chained in her mind. For the first time in her life, someone had measured her by her mother and found her equal. Eonwë actually held her as being her mother’s daughter in spirit. Celebrían shuddered. Did that mean that she had it in her to be as ruthless and calculating as Galadriel was?

 

“I cannot aid you, old friend.” Eonwë patted Finarfin’s arm in a patronizing manner. “Take your granddaughter and leave the city before Manwë realizes the import of your errand.”

 

×××

 

“I suppose we tried.” Finarfin broke the heavy silence between them as the carriage rattled back towards Tirion.

 

She did not speak. She was still considering the implications of Eonwë’s words. A wave of anger rose in her as she remembered the sardonic, patronizing, unpitying sentences of the Herald of the Valar. Had he acted similarly towards Elrond and Elros when they had been asked to choose? She sighed. She did not know. There was much that she did not know about her former husband.

 

And her mother. She had to accept that she did not know Galadriel at all.

 

“My daughter is always of the opinion that appealing to the Gods is not worth it,” Finarfin said bleakly. “I cannot say that I disagree with her. It amuses them to see her toil in those harsh lands for the sake of her kin.”

 

She realized it then. Her mother had to be all that she was. She had no other means to fight the Gods. Celebrían leant back against the cushions of the carriage seat. Galadriel, Elrond, Erestor, Gildor, Glorfindel, Thranduil…She understood them all now. How had they managed to have the patience they had had when she had dealt so pettily with them?

 

“Grandfather, turn the carriage around.” She was surprised at how steady her voice seemed to be. “I wish to speak with Eonwë again.”

 

Finarfin began incredulously, “My dear child!”

 

She shook her head to cut off his sentence and said urgently, “I must. Please.”

 

His eyes widened as he spoke softly, “You are her daughter, I fear.”

 

“Is that a bad thing?” Celebrían asked wearily, her bones aching with the tire of constant travel.

 

“I fear that it is not a very good thing.” His voice was low and sad as he spoke. But he gave in to her wishes and gave orders for the change in direction.

 

They sped back towards Taniquetil.

 

×××

 

“I cannot believe that you dared to come here with the same request again!” Eonwë hissed as he took her arm and led her to one of the airy corridors of the palace.

 

“I am afraid that I must persist, My Lord. I need to know.” Celebrían held her ground determinedly, meeting his stern gaze without flinching.

 

“I cannot help you.” He shrugged and pointed towards the far end of the corridor. “I am sure that you can find your way out from here. I cannot spend all day arguing about this matter. I loathe the subject.”

 

“I do not ask it for myself.” Celebrían placed herself squarely before him before he turned to leave.

 

“I care nothing for the matter, Lady Celebrían.” Eonwë snarled and made to push past her.

 

“He has a daughter!” Celebrían ran after him, her breath coming in short spurts as her cumbersome six-month pregnant figure failed to allow her more freedom to move.

 

“Many those whom he killed had daughters, sons and newborn babes. Your quest shall meet with no sympathy here.” His voice did not turn in the least relenting.

 

She felt desperation and anger rise within her. She did not have her mother’s ability to persuade people. He nodded briskly to her and began walking away. She leant against the nearest pillar and rested her forehead against the cold stone. A sudden attack of nausea left her panting and weary. She closed her eyes and took deep breaths.

 

She stood in the doorway, waiting for her cousin to return from his latest drinking exploits. Fingon smirked at her as he returned, the effect of drink lending a cruel light to his usually warm eyes. She sighed as she placed a platter of food before him. As she turned to leave, a hand caught her by the wrist.

 

Impatiently tugging away, she said, “Findekáno! I have enough to do without babysitting drunkards.”

 

He pulled her back to him. She turned to glare at him. But drink had killed his senses entirely. He laughed coldly as she struggled against him. Hands fondled her even as she screamed in fright.

 

The cold morning light forced her to pull herself up from the rug where she lay sprawled. Beside her lay her cousin; sleeping the deep slumber of the truly drunk. She shivered as she gathered what remained of her clothes and rose to her feet.

 

“I will exact payment, cousin,” she swore as she stared at the blood on the rugs. “You will regret thrice over that you ever touched me. I will not rest until I destroy everything that is yours.”

 

Hands shook her awake and cold water brought her back to her senses. She inhaled spluttering as the water drenched her.

 

“Are you well?” Eonwë’s dubious voice welcomed her to reality.

 

She nodded shakily and accepted his hand to right herself into a standing position. She tried not to imagine the scene she must have created.

 

“You were screaming,” Eonwë said irritably, though concern shone in his eyes. “Shall I send for your grandfather? It is unwise to travel alone when you are with child.”

 

She tried to suppress the nausea that rose in her again. She would not think upon what had happened to her mother. She could not afford it now. Then she remembered the determination that had shone from Galadriel’s features.

 

Bravely, she clutched Eonwë’s hand and brought it to her stomach. He looked at her worriedly.

 

“I would starve myself to death and kill my child along with me. I swear that I will do it if you will not tell me what happened to Maglor Fëanorion.”

 

Her hands shook as she spoke. Tears ran down her cheeks. She had wanted the child so badly. She had tricked her husband and Erestor into the deal. She had sailed west with the unborn babe like a thief running away with his hoard. Now was she ready to strike a deal with Eonwë for the price of the child? Then she remembered Galadriel’s face and she willed herself to go through this.

 

“You are not your mother,” he said, not unkindly. His hands came to her shoulders and squeezed lightly as he spoke, “My Lady, it is not wise to speak the names of the condemned here. It shall do you harm. Return to your grandfather’s side and be at peace. You have brought much-deserved happiness to his house. Give birth to your child and find happiness. Forget your mother. She is past redemption. And to be fair, she has never begged for redemption.”

 

“I am not my mother.” Celebrían knew that her voice was broken and filled with her desperation. “But I have seen her toil. I have seen my kin toil. I cannot build a fairytale life of happiness knowing that they are doomed to fail. I wish to know what has happened to him.”

 

“You cannot do anything about his fate. Or about the fates of those who still persist doggedly.” Eonwë’s words were harsh, but she noticed that his eyes had turned warmer as they regarded her.

 

She fell to her knees before him and looked up saying, “How long must you all have desired to see my mother thus, at your mercy?”

 

He did not reply, though his eyes darkened with strong emotion.

 

She continued imploringly, “I am but a single woman. There is nothing I can do to thwart the will of the Valar. Tell me, please. I would do anything you wish me to, if it is my power.”

 

“Take care of your child. That is enough for me,” he said shortly. “The Fëanorion defied Manwë all his life. He sailed west. The storm brought him to the shores of Mandos. A cruel, deserted place with inclement weather all year around. It would have been enough to make anyone fade and die. But he was his father’s son. All this happened many years ago. I do not know about what happened afterwards. Now begone with you. Your grandfather will have been worried.”

 

×××

 

“Eru!” Finarfin cursed as he sank into his chair. “How could they be as cruel as this?”

 

“I cannot offer an answer.” Celebrían placed her hands over her womb and shuddered thinking of her words to Eonwë. How had she found the courage to barter over her child’s life? What sort of a soul did it make her?

 

“How did you persuade him?” Finarfin asked quietly. She did not turn to face him. She knew what she would see on his face; fear.

 

“I merely used some feminine persuasion.” She laughed lightly and glossed over the subject. He seemed too overcome by the news to notice the slight tremor of her figure.

 

“We must do something.” Celebrían turned to face him.

 

He shook his head wearily as he spoke, “There is nothing we can do, ‘Bria. I cannot even bear telling Carnilote and Melorian these tidings. We must endeavour to put it behind us and go on.”

 

She watched him nervously. There was nothing she did not like about him; superior intellect, calmness, perfect Noldorin features… Cautiously, she raised her hand to cup his face, letting her fingers trace those sharp cheekbones. He shuddered before replicating her gesture with his hands. She had never imagined that a simple touch could provoke such inexplicable sensation. His fingers brushing her temples were enough to set her afire. She knew that she was in love. 

 

“My dear?” Finarfin rose to walk to her side. Celebrían shook her head and turned to face his concerned eyes.

 

“Were they lovers?” she asked him.

 

He frowned in incomprehension. She asked again, “Was he my mother’s lover?”

 

“At a point of time, I believe they were.” He cleared his throat and looked away. “Infatuations, you know what they are like. They were never in love with each other.”

 

“Why did he not immediately sail after Maedhros died?” Celebrían asked wearily. She knew the truth. But she had to ask.

 

Finarfin flinched saying, “He did promise me to watch over her, as long as he could. He had always kept his promises.”

 

“Grandfather,” she gathered his hands in hers, “if you had more courage than you do, what would you have done?”

 

He did not hesitate as he replied, “I would ride north and seek for answers. But I lack the courage to do so. There is no use fancying otherwise.”

 

“I cannot rest without knowing the truth, grandfather.” She spoke sincerely, her earnest gaze making him avert his eyes.

 

“There is nothing that you and I can do. I forbid you to do anything about this. You must rest. We leave for Tirion tomorrow at dawn.” He squeezed her hand tenderly and left the chamber, but not before she had seen the pure despair on his features.

 

×××

 

They began their return journey at dawn. A cumbersome silence fell between them. He was lost in his thoughts and she was still thinking of Maglor’s fate. She remembered the expression on her mother’s face when the latter had stood in the glade with Maglor. In the light of Laurelin, they had looked like young gods, flush with hope and life. Their faces had shone in innocence and love.

 

“The will of the Valar is this: If those who remain of the house of Finwë defeat Mordor forever, then you may sail back to the lands you left. And the Void shall be exchanged for an eternity in the halls of waiting,” Mithrandir said. “It is, as the humans say, a raw deal.”

 

“Yet it is a deal,” she said with renewed hope. “I no longer pray or look to the west for aid, Mithrandir. But I will accept this deal. I will win my kin their long deserved freedom even if it claims my soul.”

 

“You are drained, Galadriel,” Mithrandir said solemnly, “drained of the power of Valinor that once shone in your soul.”

 

“I will not give up now, Mithrandir, I will win this or I shall die fighting,” she said plainly. “I am all that remains, I will not linger as a burden to this land.”

 

Celebrían knew what she had to do.

 

“Stop the carriage, grandfather. I have a different road to take.” She spoke softly.

 

He did not reply as he stared at his intertwined fingers. She did not speak again. She knew that he could not dissuade her. Not when even her own fears failed to stay her from the rash course she was set upon.

 

“I beg you.” He looked up and met her eyes in pleading.

 

She shook her head wearily. “I need to do this. For all that they suffered, grandfather. He remained behind to watch over my mother. It is my duty to him. And I have a duty, a payment due to his son.”

 

Finarfin frowned in bewilderment. She smiled wanly saying, “None of those in our house are exempt from forbidden desires. I caused Maglor’s son much harm with my desire.”

 

“I understand you more than I can ever tell,” Finarfin said wryly, “I cannot dissuade you. But I must beg you to wait till the child is born.”

 

“No,” she shook her head determinedly, “the child shall be my only bargaining hold on them. I need to go now.”

 

His eyes widened in alarm as he whispered, “’Bria, what you propose is utter folly! I cannot allow you to do this!”

 

She called out to the coachman to stop. Then she alighted and looked back at a stricken Finarfin.

 

“I will return.” She promised fervently. “Never doubt that, grandfather. My child shall be born in Tirion.”

 

“You almost made me believe your words,” he said sadly.

 

“I believe them myself.” She laughed as she waved to him. “I will return, grandfather. In three weeks, I shall wait here for the carriage. Then I promise not to budge from your halls till the duration of my pregnancy is completed.”

 

×××

 

Thus it was that she found herself on the path that headed north beyond the mountains of Valinor, bound for the halls of Mandos.

* * *

Celebrían was grateful for the long trudges in the woods that her father would take on while she was young. Even after he had been engrossed with the concerns of the administration, he would ask Haldir to accompany her on these trips. This had ensured that she was as fit as any laywoman could be. Even now, encumbered by pregnancy, she could still walk nearly twenty miles a day. Unlike the time when she had been carrying the twins, she did not feel exhausted or weary at the end of the day.

 

The deserted path gave her the solace of loneliness. The quietness helped her to come to terms with all that had happened in her life since her arrival on these shores. The startling revelations about her mother’s past, the injustice of it all, the rising regrets and repentance about Celebrían’s actions in the dealings with Elrond and Erestor…all made Celebrían wonder if she did really know herself.

 

The freshness of spring had thawed the frosty wind. Celebrían smiled as the wind blew through her rich clothes. The climate in Valinor was temperate and mild with none of the vagaries that plundered Middle-Earth. Of course, the only time she had been exposed to the elements had been during her journeys across the Misty Mountains. Both Lothlorien and Imladris had mild weather owing to the Rings that their rulers held.

 

“My Lady Celebrían.” An exasperated voice heralded the arrival of a rider behind her. She turned to see the irritated visage of Eonwë.

 

“Lord Herald.” Celebrían inclined her head in greeting. The smile that had graced her features lingered on her lips despite his forbidding expression.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked angrily as he leapt down from his stallion.

 

“Walking, of course.” She waved her left hand to indicate the beautiful countryside even as her right hand made its path to rest on her bulging belly. “It is a wonderful country. Much of Valinor that is glorious lies beyond its cities.”

 

“Much of Valinor that is fearful too lies beyond its cities,” Eonwë said sternly as he took her arm, “Your grandfather sent for me. He wishes you to accompany me to Tirion.”

 

Celebrían gently disengaged her arm from his hold and stepped away as she said, “I am sorry, My Lord. I did make the reasons for this journey clear to my grandfather. He did agree with them. I promised him that I would return as soon as I may.”

 

“You will return now. To go further is folly.” Eonwë’s voice held suppressed anger at her willful disobedience.

 

“I shall not. I have sworn to find the truth.” Celebrían met his gaze calmly, hoping that the sweat running down her temples might be mistaken for exertion and not fear.

 

“Child,” Eonwë began exasperatedly, “you have no idea of the hornet’s nest that you stir with your ill-advised actions. Your grandfather is right to be worried. He has lost enough family to their follies. Come home and stay there.”

 

He had smeared the blood that trickled from his hands onto his face. She gasped as he thoughtfully looked upon the red liquid and then nodded. To her horror, he opened his mouth and smeared it on his teeth.

 

“Macalaurë,” she whispered brokenly.

 

She reached with trembling fingers to touch his cheek and exhaled in relief as she realized that none of it was his blood.

 

“Don’t worry,” he gave a smile that was intended to be charming. “It is just to scare my brother.”

 

She shook her head mutely and averted her eyes to the corpses of her cousins. Hot tears scalded her cheeks.

 

“You shouldn’t cry. They are sleeping. Now stop crying. My brother will be coming and he shall get angry with me if I made you cry.” He smiled charmingly.

 

She exclaimed in desperate horror, “NO! Macalaurë!” and buried her face in the front of his tunic, her hands clasping his arms with a fierce, desperate strength as she broke down completely.

 

It was then that sanity made its reappearance in his brain. He clung to his cousin and they slid to the cold stone ground of Doriath, their tears mingling with the streams of blood that pooled at their feet. She had not fallen apart ever before, not when she had killed, not when she had been raped, not when she had cold-bloodedly planned mass-murder, not when her kin had fallen in battle and betrayal. But this broke her. She swore that she would avenge her family, whatever it took.

 

Celebrían swayed gently on her feet as she took in a deep breath to calm herself. She met Eonwë’s eyes defiantly.

 

“It was not merely their follies alone. It was more because of the cruelty of those who judged them.” Her words were chosen with care.

 

“Blasphemy has no place in Valinor.” His voice had turned harsh and forbidding.

 

“Even if truth be blasphemy it shall not stop being the truth,” she said fervently. “I will find out what happened to him, Eonwë. I will find the truth, whatever it takes.”

 

“I fear that you shall come to regret your quest. The truth is often concealed for a reason,” Eonwë said quietly.

 

“The truth is light. It will make the darkness and despair easier to bear,” Celebrían spoke earnestly.

 

Eonwë laughed; a cold, bitter laugh. “Lady Celebrían, I will not attempt to persuade you to listen to reason. Go forth on your quest and may it do you much good. But I sincerely hope that you shall not regret falling in the shadow of light.”

 

“Light has no shadow,” Celebrían said bewildered as he mounted his stallion.

 

“So you think.” Eonwë shook his head and rode away leaving her alone on the road to Mandos.

 

She took a deep breath and began walking forward, her feet unfaltering despite the fears in her heart. She did not understand the enigma that was Galadriel. But she was awed by the despair, grief and loneliness that enveloped her mother. How did Galadriel manage to present a serene, determined face to the world each day? Celebrían knew that reparation was beyond her means. But she would aid her mother’s cause in whatever way she could.

 

“What is the reason for your fearlessness, Galadriel?” Círdan asked quietly as they watched the ship bearing Maglor sail away.

 

“One fears only when one has something to lose,” she said thoughtfully. “I don’t have anything left to lose, Círdan.” 

 

Celebrían massaged her temples as she leant against the bole of a great tree. Her fingers curved over her belly. She had to return to Tirion within the month. She was determined to give birth to her son in a birthing-bed, she was sure that it would be a son. She smiled helplessly as her eyes slid shut. Finarfin would have the honour of naming her child, she decided.

 

She had made the right decision in sailing. Her son would grow up knowing peace and prosperity. Her son would not live under the shadow of Finwë’s doom.

 

×××

 

“My Lady!” a surprised voice greeted her.

 

She turned to see the captain of Finarfin’s guards leading a donkey-drawn wagon.

 

“What are you doing here?” he asked incredulously as he fell into step beside her.

 

She narrowed her eyes and asked coldly, “Did the King send you to find me?”

 

His eyes widened in honest confusion as he spoke, “Certainly not, Lady Celebrían! I make this journey once every year.”

 

“Why?” it was her turn to be surprised.

 

“It has been a tradition to bring Mandos peace offerings.” He beckoned to the merchandise on the wagon. “Ever since the Exile of his kin, Lord Arafinwë sends gifts to Mandos every year in the vain hope that it might provoke pity.”

 

Celebrían stood stunned at this revelation. Her eyes moved over the rich gifts that were on the wagon. She took a deep breath. So her accusation that Finarfin had done nothing to aid his family rang false. He was going about it in a sincere, but naive manner.

 

“Hórëon.” He bowed to her and gathered the reins of the donkey. “Shall I beg for the pleasure of your company?”

 

“It shall be my pleasure, Hórëon.” Celebrían smiled sincerely and fell into step beside him. Then she asked something that had been nagging her. “Where do you leave these gifts?”

 

“At the farthest outpost on this side of the mountains. After that there is a cragged descent into the valley. None venture on that path, not even Varda, so it is told,” he spoke solemnly. “If I may ask, which is your destination, My Lady?”

 

“Celebrían,” she said hastily, “I care not for titles. Do you think that Mandos receives your gifts?”

 

“Lady Varda told us to hope that he does. She has always been a friend of the Noldor,” he said with conviction.

 

Celebrían wondered what Galadriel would think of Hórëon. To believe blindly in Varda, in any Vala, she did not think that Galadriel would call that wise. A smile broke on Celebrían’s features as an image of Galadriel’s patronizing expression rose in her mind.

 

“You have too sunny a disposition for one of the Noldor!” Hórëon laughed as he took in her twinkling blue eyes filled with good humour.

 

“My father is a Sinda,” Celebrían retorted. “Never judge an elf by his or her hair, Hórëon!”

 

“I don’t know your reasons for this journey, Celebrían,” he began slowly. “But it is certainly unwise to travel while you are with child.”

 

“How long does it take you to complete the trip?” she asked quietly.

 

“Five weeks, at the most. When we return, my wagon will be empty and I can build you a litter to rest on so that you need not walk.” He promised fervently as her fingers brushed her stomach.

 

“Thank you,” she nodded her head gratefully, “Now let us sing and be merry.”

 

“Sing?” he asked incredulously, looking as if he suspected his ears of malfunctioning.

 

She raised her brows and asked surprised, “Don’t you sing on long journeys?”

 

“It is not done in Valinor.” He shook his head in bewilderment at what he considered a foreign idea.

 

She sighed and explained, “It helps to lighten the journey. It helps to build camaraderie. It helps to keep the animals in good spirits. Let us try it, shall we? If you cannot get used to it, I promise to stop.”

 

He nodded dubiously and she smiled. A moment later, a clear, rich voice pervaded the air, singing of the wonders of Middle-Earth. Hórëon listened spell-bound as she sung of Doriath and Lothlorien. Her eyes held his gaze in amusement at his trance. The faint sheen of perspiration coated her skin like dew on a leaf. Pregnancy curved her figure into a pleasing sight. But it was her gaze that struck him to the core; those sparkling blue eyes held courage, determination and simple hope.

 

“Through you, the light has returned to the Noldor,” he whispered reverently.

 

×××

* * *

“You cheated!” Celebrían laughed as Hórëon won the game, yet again. She had been the teacher, but his complete lack of scruples ensured that he won almost every round.

 

“How do you make such a grievous accusation?” he raised his eyebrows forming his visage into a perfect picture of impugned honour.

 

“You cannot use the mallyrn to make your house,” she explained for the tenth time as she indicated the cross on the stone tablet. “They are protected trees. You need to use deadwood. For that you must buy it from the market or trade with me.”

 

“Curse you,” he said sulkily, his scowl reminding her of Elrond. “Why cannot we just assume that there are houses already? It is the King’s responsibility!”

 

“It is the King’s responsibility when the King has nothing better to do,” Celebrían chuckled as she neatly struck off his cross rendering him homeless. “Otherwise, it is your task. Naïve, aren’t you?”

 

He chewed thoughtfully on a shoot of grass that he had plucked from the meadow and leant back to meet her amused gaze.

 

“Are things that bad in Middle-Earth?” he asked quietly. The amusement vanished from her eyes as his words sunk in.

 

“I don’t understand how getting the chance to design your own home becomes a cause of worry unless you are a really hopeless architect,” Celebrían offered cautiously.

 

“I have never tried my hand at it. What I meant was that if your King had never the time to attend to his people,” Hórëon said, his eyes wide with alarm.

 

“You are right.” Celebrían sighed. “There was never time. War, treason and death, Hórëon. Those who live here are truly blessed. The greater pity that they don’t realize their blessings. One takes up the sword at a very young age. There is seldom time for anything else. It has been an unceasing struggle.”

 

“Was that why you sailed?” he asked tentatively, his unwillingness to encroach on her privacy clear in his concerned eyes.

 

She nodded saying, “That was a reason, amongst many others. I wish my child to be born and raised in a land where only peace shall abound.”

 

“I am sure that your wish shall be fulfilled, Celebrían. Valinor is always peaceful.” He smiled as he shoved a loaf of wheat bread towards her. “Eat,” he said forcefully, “you must keep up your strength if you are to climb the mountains.”

 

“Climb the mountains?” she asked, suddenly terrified. Flashes of the cold snow-laden paths on the Misty Mountains rose in her mind.

 

He laughed, clearly ignorant of the reason behind her momentary panic. He gestured to the path before them and said, “The path is broad and runs alongside a stream. You will not even realize that you are climbing a mountain. The road curves gently. You have no cause for fear, Celebrían. But the tales say that the road down the mountain to the north is a hard path.”

 

“Who tried venturing that way?” Celebrían frowned in curiosity, wondering who had dared to step into the domain of Mandos.

 

He cleared his throat and looked away saying quietly, “Finwë Noldorán. He braved the path after Míriel passed from life. Eonwë returned with him months later. The King was barely lucid and alive. I heard the tale from my grandfather. I am not very sure with the details though. For all it is worth, it might be a yarn spun by the fire by lazy souls.”

 

×××

Celebrían lay on the soft grass, staring thoughtfully at the stars. Hórëon had looked scandalized at the thought of spending a night under the skies without a roof over his head. He had tethered the donkey to a tree and then crept under the wagon to seek his rest. A smile curved Celebrían’s lips as she thought of what her father would say if he had seen Hórëon refusing to spend the night under the stars.

 

Her gaze drifted to the western skies. Vingilot was making its way down the skies. She wondered why Earendil had accepted that lonely fate. She wondered why Elrond had never loved his parents.

 

“I have found more comfort in the cold steel of my foster-father’s sword than in the warm bosom of my mother.”

 

She was lucky, she realized as she thought of Elrond’s past. Her mother had never run away from responsibilities the way Elwing had. And the way I did, she reflected forlornly as she thought of her sons. Her hands clasped over her stomach and she vowed that the child she carried now would never know a mother’s betrayal.

 

She rose with the dawn. The green grass had stained her crumpled clothes. She smiled as she futilely tried to straighten them.

 

“I cannot imagine what kind of a lady would travel without even a change of clothes!” Hórëon muttered as he crawled from underneath the wagon.

 

“I cannot imagine what kind of a knight would cheat a lady at a game!” She responded tartly even as he brushed his hands through his hair. The gesture reminded her of a bird preening itself.

 

“What can you be thinking of?” he asked suspiciously as he strode off to fetch the donkey. “You are in very good spirits, indeed.”

 

“It is a fine morn,” she shrugged as she began walking, “and elves sleeping under wagons always make me smile.”

 

“I am sorry to say that pregnant women who insist on walking to Mandos don’t make me smile at all. You could have done this sightseeing journey in another few months. Valinor would still be the same.” He huffed irritably as he shot her belly a wary glance.

 

She did not reply. It was an oft-repeated argument, one which she did not feel inclined to go through this morning. She let her senses explore the world. The larks were welcoming the day with their songs. The golden sheaves of the maize stalks that fluttered in the wind reminded her of Glorfindel’s hair. How did he fare? How were all of them faring?

 

“What can you be thinking of now?” Hórëon asked curiously as he passed her an apple to munch on.

 

“The sheaves remind me of Lord Glorfindel’s hair,” she said quietly. “I was wondering about those I left behind.”

 

“Does your mother’s hair still shine with light of the Trees?” Hórëon asked. “I have heard tales speak so.”

 

She walked swiftly through the narrow alleyways. Dogs barked as they sensed an intruder in the town. She gathered her cloak closer and hastened her pace. Her steps took her to the dingy tavern frequented by the menfolk of the town. Summoning her courage, she pushed the door open and entered.

 

There was a hush in the noisy tavern as the drunken men peered at her suspiciously. Forcing her fear away, she asked clearly, “Which of you is Uldor, the son of Ulfang?”

 

To her relief, a slightly sober man stepped forth, examining her cloaked form with deep curiosity.

 

“I answer to the name of Uldor, woman. What be your business with me?”

 

“I would speak alone with you,” her voice did not betray the thudding of her heart.

 

He nodded and led her upstairs to an attic. As he lit a lantern, she uncloaked herself. He gasped as he took in her features.

 

“I am Galadriel of Doriath. I seek a favour from you,” she spoke quietly. This would be the moment of reckoning. He would either call for his men or listen to what she had come to say.

 

He nodded and said apologetically, “I can offer you no seat, lady. How may I help you?”

 

She dearly hoped that her senses had told her the truth. Her instincts believed that the man was susceptible to deceit. If she were wrong, it would mean the end of her. Then she thought of Fingon and steeled herself.

 

“I need you to create a diversion for Maedhros’s armies.” She did not mince words. Subtlety would not avail her anyway.

 

He looked at her astounded. She cleared her face of emotion and met his gaze calmly.

 

“You mean to have the Elven King stranded in the midst of the enemy,” he said plainly, his eyes narrowing.

 

“I have my reasons.” She wondered how she could speak so calmly. “I can pay you well.”

 

He stared at her for a long moment before murmuring, “Your hair shines with the radiance of the sun. I think that it is no petty matter which has you seeking your cousin’s death. A lock of your hair, and consider my side of the deal sealed.”

 

She would have willingly cut off all her tresses to secure his compliance.

 

Celebrían decided that she was growing accustomed to these images of her mother’s past. She coughed to clear her throat and said easily, “It does, Hórëon. Her hair still shines brighter than sunlight.”

 

Hórëon began singing. Celebrían smiled at his falling in with her ways before drifting into her thoughts. Perhaps Eonwë was right. Galadriel’s cold-blooded planning of Fingon’s death put her past redemption. Justice was not hers to mete out.

 

But was justice ever meted out by the Valar? No, she decided, the Valar reveled in partiality when dealing with judgment of the elves. But even then, did that mean that one could take up the law into one’s own hands?

 

Disturbed, Celebrían stared ahead at the mountains before them. If there was one thing that life had taught her, it was not to be hasty while judging people, especially when the said people were as complicated as her mother. Her fingers nestled protectively over her stomach. She wished fervently that she would be never forced to make decisions as her mother had to.

 

×××

 

“Here we are!” Hórëon crowed triumphantly as they reached the outpost. “This is where I unload the merchandise. Then we return. Now, don’t go wandering off. I will go and gather grass for making you a litter on the wagon.”

 

Celebrían nodded, her panting made it difficult to speak. The last phase of climbing had truly worn her out. Hórëon chuckled at her exhaustion and handed his water-skin to her. She smiled in gratitude. He reached out to wipe off the sweat from her forehead before swaggering off on his quest.

 

She sighed and leant back against a boulder. It was dusk. From there, she could see a bird’s eye view of the lands they had traversed. Woods, fields, valleys and winding roads. She could not believe that she had walked so far. All her life in Lothlorien, she had been cosseted by her father who would have dropped dead in astonishment if he had heard of his pregnant daughter traipsing about all over the countryside. After her marriage to Elrond, Glorfindel, Erestor and her husband would harangue her relentlessly if she even dared to walk in the woods of the valley. She had confined her amblings to the gardens after she decided to spare the trio their worry and deep concern about her safety.

 

But now, in Valinor, she was truly free. She was free to make her own decisions. That scared her. It had been easier to let others decide for her. To make one’s own choices necessitated taking up responsibility for all that ensued from those choices. She was not sure that she wished to face that.

 

How did Galadriel make her choices without the slightest of regrets?

 

She sighed and rose to her feet. She would go and find Hórëon. It would do her no good to remain there and brood. As she turned, a gasp escaped her. The road descended on the other side of the mountains. But on the sides of the path were rocks and ferns. The mountains shaded the lands from the sun. There were even traces of snow on some of the rocky outcrops to the north.

 

And the path went on, winding and weaving through the deserted lands. She could see a vague blackness to the far north; the mountains below which lay the fastness of Mandos.

 

She shivered, not merely because of the cold wind that blew from the north. Her prayer would not be granted. She had to make a choice, just as her mother had done many a time. Go on or return? She knew that if she were to return, none would be the wiser. Those who knew would not think any less of her. She had dared at least to travel so far.

 

Then she thought of all those she had left behind across the sea, of all those she had wronged. She looked up at the burning sun in the sky. The fiery ball defied the dark clouds that threatened to swallow it. It would sink into the western sea eventually. But it would burn till the very end…and rise in golden splendor the next dawn.

 

She swallowed as she made her choice. Furiously, she dabbed away at the tears that fled down her cheeks. She was still a coward, wracked by fear and doubts. But even a coward could fight.

 

“You shall go on.” He was not asking a question. She nodded to Hórëon who had come up, an armful of grass obscuring his face.

 

“Why?” His voice held no hope as he let the grass he had gathered so painstakingly fall to the ground.

 

“Because I owe them,” she whispered, waving her right hand in a graceful arc to indicate the sunset before them.

 

“I will wait,” he said simply, “I will wait for two weeks.”

 

He did not say what he would do after the time period. She did not ask. There was no need, of course.

 

She nodded briskly. He sighed as he passed his water-skin and supplies to her. She accepted them quietly. Now was no time to argue.

 

As she turned to leave, he placed his hand on her shoulder. She turned back to meet his gaze. There was sadness there, there was ignorance there, there was helplessness there…and there was some indiscernible emotion that she could not identify. Then he smiled; a poignant vision hallowed by the sunset.

 

She understood the underlying emotion. It was hope.

 

“The light has returned to our people through you,” he said sincerely.

 

“I will not relinquish the light,” she promised him with all her heart. He nodded quietly and let her pass.

 

She reached up to squeeze his hand and then turned away. Squaring her shoulders, she began walking north.

×××

* * *

The wind intensified as she walked briskly down the path. She had to use both her hands to keep her hands away from her face. Earlier in the morning, she had chanced to come by a stream. She had filled her waterskin and rested awhile there. Then she had curiously peeped in to watch her reflection. The image was highly distorted by the never still water. But what she had seen surprised her.

 

Her features were lit with the rosy flush that accompanies exertion. Gone was the pallor of someone whose work consisted of only sewing and painting. Despite the encumbering pregnancy, she felt invigorated and well-rested.

 

Her hands moved to her belly as she wondered if the child might grow up to be restless. There were superstitions that a child’s behaviour was often directly proportional to the circumstances of the mother during the pregnancy. It was certainly proved true in the case of her sons. The circumstances surrounding her pregnancy and labour had been fraught with anger, hatred and unhappiness. Had that contributed to the twins’ deep hatred of the enemy?

 

The strong wind bloated her skirts and they rose in a sharp arc to obscure her vision. Laughing at the incongruous picture she probably made, Celebrían pulled down the skirts and began walking faster.

 

 

“Are you sure of this?” His voice was fraught with emotion as he held the goblet to her lips. She noticed that his fingers were trembling.

 

“I am, cousin.”

 

Galadriel’s voice held no tremor. She wished he would get on with it. She did not know how long she would be able to keep her calm.

 

He shook his head wearily and whispered, “Then open your mouth. I’ll pour it down.”

 

“I could do it myself,” she said gently.

 

“I will not allow you to take up this sin on yourself!” Maedhros spoke harshly. “If we are to kill the unborn child, then let me at least ensure that the sin falls upon me!”

 

“Nonsense!” she hissed in anger as she realized his motives. “You know that it is well my choice to end the life that grows in me! I will take up the responsibility.”

 

He shook his head firmly saying, “I failed to protect you, Artanis. I will not let you kill your own child.”

 

She opened her mouth to argue, but he tilted the goblet and the bitter concoction flowed down her throat. She gagged. The goblet fell at their feet as he used his sole hand to close her mouth and made her swallow. Their chests heaved with emotion as their gazes met. Sharp pain convulsed her insides and she gasped, leaning against him for support.

 

 

Celebrían gasped as the visions receded. She wondered what the wetness on her cheeks was. It was not raining. She brought her fingers to the watery trail and then tasted it; salty, bitter. Tears; she was crying.

 

“Oh, mother!” She began sobbing as her arms folded about her stomach. “Would you have killed me as easily if I had not been born of love?”

 

×××

 

Would she go on after knowing what she did? She took a deep breath. She remembered the expression on her mother’s face when Maedhros had forced down the potion. She remembered the frantic grip of Galadriel’s fingers when they had convulsively clenched the front of his robes. Then she realized; Galadriel had been afraid.

 

Somehow that made things easier. For the first time in her life, Celebrían found the vulnerable, frightened soul that hid behind Galadriel’s cold-blooded façade. Everyone was a coward. Some were just adept at hiding the fact.

 

She would go on.

 

×××

 

She found out that the stubby plants that sprung up on the roadside were tubers. She enjoyed plucking them and gently cutting off the tuberous vegetable from the roots. It tasted like a bitter carrot. She assumed that it was what they called ‘radish’. While she was not overly fond of the taste, she liked the fact that it satisfied her hunger rapidly.

 

She wished that she could have oysters to eat. She smiled wryly. The cravings of pregnancy, indeed.

 

But she supposed that she was lucky. There had been no morning sickness, no swollen feet and none of the numerous symptoms that took off half the joy of carrying life within.

 

She looked up. Twenty miles to the foot of the mountain, she estimated roughly. In another day, she would reach her destination. She halted hastily.

 

She had no plan. Was there a door on which one could knock and politely ask for a meeting with Mandos?

 

Sleep overwhelmed her. She decided to think upon a plan later. But even then, she knew that there could be no plan.

 

×××

 

She rested her forehead on the cold rock face. How glad she was that she did not have mortal blood in her! It was freezing cold and her teeth were chattering. She was sure that Elrond might have scowled in displeasure if he had been in her shoes. But then, she reflected soberly, he would have known better than to trudge to Mandos without a plan.

 

She sank down and leant her back against the rockface. She thrust her legs out and folded her arms to cushion her head. She stared at the dark sky and wondered what Finwë had done to gain an audience with Mandos. Her thoughts drifted into lazy reverie.

 

 

“Think you that she sang better than I do?” Maglor had laughed as Galadriel finished relating the exploits of Luthien.

 

“She roused Mandos from his apathy!” She raised her eyebrows. “That is no mere feat.”

 

Maglor nodded saying, “Maybe we could try it. Convene all our kin and sing together. The cacophony might summon Mandos.”

 

She laughed and rolled her eyes.

 

 

“Thank you, mother,” Celebrían whispered as she rose to her feet in a most ungainly manner, “for the first time your past is giving me an idea.”

 

She turned to face the mountain and combed her fingers through her hair. Then she closed her eyes and began singing. She sang of the Sindar kingdoms and the simple life of the woodlands. She sang of the wonders of Doriath, Greenwood and Lothlorien.

 

A part of her wondered what anyone might think of the woman in the tattered rags who was bawling about Middle-Earth to a rockface. Then she lost herself in her song and did not care anymore. Her fingers came to rest on her belly as her voice rose in simple purity.

 

×××

 

“Celebrían, are you mad?” She could imagine the incredulity that would colour Galadriel’s voice if she had been there to see her daughter now.

 

Eating radishes, drinking sparingly from the water-skin, sleeping when she was weary and singing the rest of the time; those constituted Celebrían’s day. The rockface remained solid and unmoved by her singing. She wished deeply that she had paid more attention to the tale of Luthien. When her father had taught her about it, she had been daydreaming about the handsome, valiant Beren.

 

She laughed at the adolescent woman she had been then. It was a wonder how Celeborn had been so patient with her. Then she realized that she was in front of the impassable rock that she had been facing for days. She sighed and began singing again, her fingers tapping in accord against her stomach.

 

Perhaps, she mused absently, the child might become a musician because of her singing all through the pregnancy.

 

That was when the ground beneath her gave away and she screamed in fright. Her hands came up to cover her stomach in a gesture of protection. She fell with a thud flat on her back. With a dry sob, she scampered clumsily to her feet.

 

There in a sable hall sat Mandos. It was lit only with a single vessel placed in the centre. The hall was draped with dark vapours and its floors and columns were of jet.**

 

(**Quoted from History of Middle Earth)

 

She stared at Mandos. He sat on his dark throne, a scepter in his gauntleted hands. The weight of his gaze sent shivers down her spine. Her trembling fingers came to rest on her belly and she whispered, “Lord Mandos.”

 

He did not reply. His gaze continued its steady assault upon her. She tried to cease her shivering. But the cold hall and the unnerving gaze of its master slaughtered her mental defences.

 

“You are no Luthien.” The harsh voice did not contain the slightest ounce of pity or curiosity.

 

She wondered what had happened to her voice. She tried to speak, but only a hoarse gasp ensured.

 

“What brings you here, for you have none dear to you interred in these halls?” he asked in that high, emotionless voice.

 

“I wished to seek an audience with you, milord.”

 

She was glad that her voice had not failed her. But the high-pitched, frightened tone that echoed off the walls made her cringe in embarrassment. He might already know that she was an abject coward. But the voice simply proved it without a speck of doubt.

 

He stared at her before saying calmly, “And now, you have an audience with me.”

 

She nodded frightened and then spoke in a rush, “I wished to know what happened…what happened to Maglor Fëanorion.” She screamed as the ground rumbled beneath her. For a moment the eyes of Mandos shone in terrible anger before the stoic calm returned to them.

 

“Speak not the name of the condemned in my halls!” he commanded her harshly.

 

She flinched at the anger in his voice and asked in fear, “But may I know his fate?”

 

“You have defied all the unspoken laws of Valinor. It is not right to seek me to enquire about the fates of those dead or condemned,” he said impassively, his hand tightening over the scepter he held.

 

“But I am new to the land and unaware of the unspoken laws.” She wondered how plaintive her voice sounded.

 

“Your mother would not have pleaded the way you do.” She could feel the derision in his voice.

 

“May I know his fate?” she begged him quietly.

 

She would not give in to his comparison of mother and daughter. She had let that comparison rule her all her life. Not from this instant. She was what she was, for ill or good. She could never be Galadriel, and she did not want to be her mother.

 

“Why?” he asked in that flat voice which held no emotion at all.

 

She pondered. Why? It had begun with a desire to prove herself her mother’s equal. Then self-realization had happened in the course of her journey. She had made peace with herself. She had understood her mother.

 

Why?

 

“Because I owe it, to his son whom I treated most cruelly. I owe it to his foster-son who loves him deeply. I owe it to my mother,” she said frankly, sincerity lending courage to her voice. “And above all, I owe it to myself for I must seek the truth.”

 

“The truth?” For the first time, amusement coloured his tone.

 

“Yes, I seek the truth, milord,” she said quietly. “I understand neither politics nor people. I don’t understand what makes someone kill or destroy. I don’t understand the judgments you pronounce or the defiance my mother shows. All I know is that the truth can help. It will help those who grieve for him, uncertain of knowing whether he is dead or alive.”

 

“Fair words from the mouth of one who lied and tricked her family to fall in with her wishes,” he said silkily. “Where was your commitment to the truth then?”

 

“I made many mistakes. I was a fool and a coward,” she said frankly. “Now I realize that. Even under the bright sun, I couldn’t see the light because I had refused to accept the truth. But now, even in this dark hall, I see the light,” she said quietly.

 

“May the truth serve you then.” He rose from his throne. “Come with me and I shall show you the truth.”

* * *

She followed Mandos blindly. All that she could see was the sparkling of the steel gauntlets that covered his hands. They reminded her of the disturbed lands of Middle-Earth. She suppressed a shudder as she imagined her sons in armour, in the middle of a battle.

 

“You did never realize what your hatred would spur your children to.” The low, flat voice of Mandos broke into her thoughts.

 

Her voice trembled as she spoke. “I did not, milord. But I am grateful that I left them in the care of excellent guardians.”

 

Mandos did not speak again. She shivered and followed him, her hands seeking reassurance from the warmth of her stomach. The hall seemed to be endless, dark and deserted. Not even the slightest sound reached her ears. Even the sound of their footsteps was mute. All the childhood tales about Mandos had consisted of spirits of the dead crying out in agony. She was not sure that she could have managed to bear that. She was grateful for the eerie silence.

 

But where were the dead?

 

“Milord,” she began tentatively, “Where are the slain?”

 

She did not know that he had stopped walking until a flat voice came from behind her. “Where the dead go, the living are not to know.” The quiet tone held not even the slightest trace of emotion.

 

His voice reminded her of all the rote learning and recitation that she had done in her younger days. They would recite poetry; long, boring poetry; for hours on end without the slightest emotion creeping into their voices. The similarity made her smile. And then she hoped sincerely that Mandos would not see her smiling. Or was he more accustomed to the darkness?

 

“I am,” he said coldly. “You have courage, woman. A quality I have rarely seen in Valinor in recent times.”

 

Celebrían did not reply. She was still trying to believe the fact that his words had suspiciously sounded like a compliment. And they walked through the heavy darkness.

 

×××

 

She began to be accustomed to the darkness. Now she could see the faint lines of his cloak. She supposed she should be grateful that she did not have a fear of the dark. Thranduil had a loathing of caves and enclosed places. She remembered his vociferous arguments with Erestor when the latter had proposed caves as a safety precaution. She wondered what he would do on seeing these underground caverns devoid of warmth and light.

 

Mandos stopped walking. She knew it instinctively.

 

“Take a deep breath and do not panic.” He advised her in his flat, low voice.

 

His instruction not to panic simply made her nervous and panicky. Her fingers trailed to her belly and she took a shaky breath. Instinct made her close her eyes tightly.

 

The ground beneath her gave away and she shrieked in fear. A gauntleted hand closed in a tight grip on her shoulder as she screamed. Her hands clutched her belly protecting the babe within from whatever was happening.

 

Then the world miraculously righted itself. She gasped and sunk to her knees, her head bowed forward. Her breathing came in sharp, fast spurts taking in the cool salty breeze.

 

Salty breeze?

 

In shock, she clambered to her feet and pushed her hair out of her eyes. She stood on a rock covered by moss. Her feet slipped and she skidded ungracefully. The gauntleted hands stopped her fall and righted her.

 

“Milord,” she turned to the dark apparition of Mandos, “Where are we?”

 

He did not reply. But one of the hands rose from her shoulder and pointed west.

 

The sea was disturbed, a cauldron of turmoil. The waves crashed in fury against the sands, retreating only to return with greater strength. The sun lingered on the cusp at the horizon, reluctant to drown in the angry sea. The cloudy skies were forcing the great ball of fire inexorably to its death in the water. And yet the sun fought, casting out its crimson red rays with fiery defiance.

 

In all her life, Celebrían had never seen such a sunset.

 

But it was not the sunset that her eyes were fixed upon. There on the periphery of land and sea was standing a lone figure, pride and defiance etched in every line of its body. She gasped as the figure began singing in a voice that melted her soul. His voice seemed to be so potent that even the skies opened up and rain gushed forth in torrential fury.

 

“I stand here, the last remnant of a dying day.

Make way, for I shall rest, haste and make way.

 

Fear not, O crimson light, you shall burn anew at dawn,

Yet for me, the fire to an end has drawn.

 

By the tears of the skies shall you be drenched,

But through years of loneliness stand I quenched.

 

Tarry not, my dear friend, the faster you sink, the faster you shall rise,

Alas for me, there shall be no ascent even after the end of your life.

 

When you sink into the embrace of the sea so shall I,

Unlike you, never again shall I be seen by an elven eye.”

 

 

Celebrían watched in rising horror as he began walking into the sea, his figure unbowed and proud. At the horizon, the sun was three-fourths submerged. The skies were red and crimson as they absorbed the last defiance of the ball of fire. The rain continued relentlessly, plastering her hair to her face.

 

“It is a fitting end.” Mandos’s voice betrayed the slightest glimmer of satisfaction. “He shall die before the very eyes of his kin. I am almost glad that he managed to tenaciously cling to life all these long years. If it had been your mother in your stead, then I would have expected another of her deals with the Valar in return for saving her cousin. But you are here and he will be condemned to the Void.”

 

“Haven’t you punished him enough, milord?” Celebrían beseeched him as she watched the figure waist-deep in the water.

 

 

“This one night,” she whispered as she took in the damp, dark cave, “I want to stay with you. Please don’t refuse me that too.”

 

“I will not.” He sighed, “What is mine has ever been yours. You will not find much rest in this cave, but stay.”

 

“I am sorry,” she said sincerely as she raised his scarred hands to her lips. “You did not deserve to lose all that you did.”

 

“Somehow, Artanis,” he said quietly, “Those simple, three words will not cover everything we have lost.”

 

“I know.” she said simply.

 

“Come with me,” he breathed. “Let us sail together and die together. Let us stand on the Mahanaxar and be judged together.”

 

“No, Macalaurë, I have made my choice,” Galadriel said firmly. “If I die before Sauron is destroyed, it shall be in Middle-Earth, in these harsh, unforgiving lands that we came to conquer and rule millennia ago. I will save you from the void at the cost of my own soul, cousin, if it is the last thing I do.”

 

 

Mandos was right. If her mother had been there, Celebrían knew that she would not let Mandos claim the figure and imprison it in the Void.

 

Tears mingled with raindrops on her cheeks and she turned to Mandos to implore him. He remained silent and unmoved as his eyes watched the sea. She turned to find only a head floating above water. The faintest sliver of crimson remained at the horizon. The sun had died.

 

She screamed and ran forward, breaking away from the hold of the gauntleted hands that restrained her. Her feet skidded over the rocks and she tumbled down onto the sand. She did not care about the blood that flowed freely down her elbows from the impact of her fall. Screaming again to call the figure back to life, she ran forward. Her feet sank in the wet sands and the wind buffeted her fiercely.

 

“Stop, foolish woman.” Gauntleted hands restrained her. “Nobody interferes with my will.”

 

“But what you are doing is cruelty!” She sobbed and slumped down at his feet. “Please, milord, prove to us that you are as merciful as you ought to be!”

 

“The cost of a life is a life,” he said harshly. “Why else do you think Finwë had to return from my halls in grief? He had no life to give in return for his wife’s spirit!”

 

She looked back at the sea. She could see ebony tresses floating in the waves.

 

“Please, milord.” She beseeched again, her fingers trembling as they clutched his boots.

 

“You cannot do anything, Lady Celebrían. Come with me. I shall return you to your grandfather.” his voice held the mildest trace of kindness as his hands gently lifted her from her supplication.

 

There was a flash of lightning. Celebrían broke free of Mandos and ran down to the shores. She did not even realize that she was wading into the water. Her pregnant body refused to master the turbulent waves. But she took a deep breath and dove in. It was dark and freezing.

 

“Please, please, let me not be too late.” She implored whatever deities could be prevailed upon to be merciful.

 

Her feet tangled in something slippery and coiling. She tried to untangle them in vain. Her lungs cried out for air, for she needed to breath for two. With a sob, she broke forth to the surface. A wave crashed down, buffeting her further into the depths. Now her lungs were burning from the lack of oxygen. She tried to manoeuvre and free her legs. But her encumbering belly made it impossible to even twist.

 

Consciousness fled her as the dark heaviness pressed her down. The lack of air sent knives through her brain killing her senses. And she sank down into the depths, her fingers floating above her belly.

 

×××

 

A sick sensation of being roasted over a spit. Hot air burst into her lungs as she breathed in shock. Infinitesimally small arrows pricked every inch of her skin. She groaned in pain. To her ears it sounded like the howl of an orc. Her lungs refused to function properly and she panicked.

 

Then hard, heated lips closed over her mouth and blessed air rushed in to her lungs. She relaxed and stopped struggling. Awareness returned to her slowly as the resuscitation worked its effect on her. She lay on the sand which explained the heat and the prickling sensation. Above her, obscuring her sight was a pale, haloed face drawn in plain worry. She idly wondered if it was Ulmo. Was he haloed? She remembered faintly that Varda was the haloed one amongst the Valar. Perhaps. She had never paid much attention to lore.

 

Then the face moved away and the bright midday sun shone down upon her. She squeezed her eyes shut as the brightness pained them. Well, she thought distractedly, that explained the halo.

 

Her fingers strayed inexorably to her belly. She waited impatiently for the faint reassurance from the life within that she had always received from the contact.

 

Nothing.

 

Her fingers began to move frantically over her stomach. She sat up in fright and a sudden attack of vertigo sent her back to the sand.

 

Strong hands supported her and a golden voice that held profound regret spoke softly, “I am sorry.”

 

She brought her hands to cover her face as she burst into dry, heaving sobs.

 

“Why did you do this?” she screamed at the Valar. “Why did you kill my son?”

 

And she knew. The cost of a life was a life in return. The rule of Mandos. Finwë had not been able to give a life for Miriel. But Celebrían had. She had chosen to save a life and paid for it with her child.

 

Convulsions wracked her from within her womb and she screamed again.

 

×××

 

“You must keep up your strength.” The voice coaxed her as slender fingers brought something slimy and noxious to her lips.

 

She averted her head, her eyes fixed at the northern mountains in angry hatred. Mandos could have warned her of the consequences. She brought her hands to her limp, empty stomach. The sensation of being filled by life...that miraculous feeling of reassurance was gone leaving behind bleak emptiness.

 

If she had known, she would never have...

 

“Eat, my dear.” The voice had become persuasive and soothing. She opened her lips obediently and swallowed the smelly substance without qualm. She did not care anymore.

 

Her fingers were caught in the firm grip of her companion’s hands. She dully dropped her eyes to stare at them. His fingers were long and well-formed. Calluses marked the past and faint white lines on the otherwise flawless skin spoke of the Silmaril that had scarred him long ago. He brushed her fingers lightly before moving to break open another oyster shell.

 

“Your son has your hands,” she whispered hoarsely as she watched the fingers work skilfully.

 

The fingers stopped in their task and she noticed that they were shaking.

 

“Your mother told me so once. Before I sailed.” The voice was clipped and devoid of emotion. But she could sense the turbulent sea that ran beneath the calm.

 

She parted her lips to dutifully eat what he offered and swallowed. Her lips were dry and cracked. Her throat was burning. A cask of water was brought to her lips and she drank greedily.

 

He pulled it back and said firmly, “Small sips. You need to be slower.”

 

She wondered where he had learnt these practical aspects of healing.

 

“How long have I been like this?” she asked, fearful of knowing the answer. But anything to keep the conversation flowing. Anything to help her be distracted from the emptiness.

 

He shrugged apologetically saying, “I am afraid that it has been more than one week. I feared for your life. Lesser women would have succumbed. But you are your mother’s daughter.”

 

“NO!” she hissed. “I would never have killed my child the way she did!”

 

His eyes widened in incomprehension and he tilted his head questioningly.

 

“If she had not killed her child, Gil-Galad would never have become the high-king,” she whispered in horror as she remembered the expression on her mother’s face.

 

He inhaled sharply. Waves of emotion crashed over his face before he willed himself to calm. “I had never known.”

 

“What could you have done?” she said dully.

 

He did not reply. But the steely gaze that met her eyes told her everything and she was glad that he had not answered her question.

 

“You must return to Valinor,” his eyes had gentled and were now staring at the waves that lapped on the sands.

 

“Is this not Valinor?” she asked irritably. Her fingers had again strayed to her belly and she hated herself for it.

 

Warm hands caught her fingers and began soothing the sensitive skin between wrist and palm. She relaxed despite herself. So it was from him that Elrond had learnt this soothing gesture.

 

“This is certainly not the abode of the Valar, if that is how one defines Valinor.” His voice was filled with introspectiveness. A dark cloud passed over his features as he viewed the watery depths in which he had tried to end his life.

 

“Are you angry?” she asked nervously.

 

“I did not want to die,” he replied quietly, a seep of colour and pride flushing his pale cheeks. “After all that I had endured, I felt that I had reached the end of my patience. I would have gladly accepted the judgment and joined my kin in the Void. I was...” he faltered and met her eyes nervously, “I was so lonely.”

 

“It is the way Mandos plans,” she said gently, squeezing his fingers. “He did not want you to come proudly to Irmo’s gardens and lay down your life. He wanted you to tire of living, of waiting. He wanted to break you before forcing you to die.”

 

His brows crinkled and he said quietly, “Your wisdom explains much. I was tired...in so many ways.”

 

The way in which he uttered those few words made her feel all the pain that he had endured over the centuries. How did he still remain sane? How did her mother still remain sane? And, Celebrían thought darkly, how is that I remain the same despite my loss?

 

She watched the golden, yellow sun above her. The warm rays caressed her lazily. She sighed.

 

“We must think of a way to return you to Tirion.” He was saying absently as he stared at the waves, his forehead furrowed in thought.

 

“And you?” she asked quietly.

 

“I am of no consequence,” he waved her question briskly. “I am condemned. You are not. There is a very fine difference in case you hadn’t noticed.”

 

“I am not returning without you,” she said angrily. “I did not give up my child in vain! I saved a life with a life!”

 

He threw her a kind, sad glance before returning to his contemplation. She did not pursue her arguments. He was right. He was condemned to the Void. But, she vowed furiously, she was owed a life for her child’s death.

 

She would fight Mandos if she had to.

 

Fight Mandos? Fight a Vala? Fight someone at whose feet she had thrown herself to beg for mercy?

 

And she knew that she had crossed yet another barrier between fear and courage. It was as Galadriel had said. Loss made one fearless?

 

As the sun began its westward journey, Celebrían rose to her feet and extended her hand regally to the soul she had saved. He looked at her dubiously, but accepted her hand and stood.

 

"Make haste, Lord Maglor. We have a long way to go. Perhaps you could sing to lighten the journey?"

 

"Journey?" he asked incredulously. She nodded agreement and squeezed his hand.

 

The shadow of a smile curved his chapped lips.

 

"I can sing about the light of your soul, Lady Celebrían," he offered, his eyes shining with a deep intensity that reminded her of his son.

 

"I am sure that you can, but can you sing about the shadow of this light?" she asked quietly.

 

He stopped walking and said, "Light has no shadow, Celebrían."

 

"So I once made the mistake of believing," she stated flatly. Silence fell and she attempted to rally her spirits. 

 

But he beat her to it and asked in a lighter tone, "What shall I sing for my lady?"

 

"Sing about oysters, my bard."

 

He shot her an incredulous look before throwing up his hands in defeat. She laughed and began walking.

* * *

“I am speaking the truth!” his voice was indignant. “I assure you, I could tell you stranger tales of that land.”

“You cannot expect me to believe that the people of Harad smear fat over their bodies to keep their skin supple!” Celebrían laughed helplessly as her imagination ran away with her.

He rolled his eyes and helped her across a particularly wide gap between the rocks. She wiped off the tears of mirth from the corners of her eyes and leant against his hard, unyielding frame. 

“Erestor is not as bony as you are,” she opined as his elbow poked her painfully in the side.

“I know. I have seen him,” he replied quietly, “more than once.”

She did not reply. But she closed her eyes in pity as his hand tightened on her wrist indicating that he was trying to control the sea of emotions that whirled in his thoughts. She wondered if he would ever forgive himself for not being an ideal father to his children. Probably not, she mused bleakly as she thought of the cursed pride and self-hatred that hounded their family. 

“I would watch him…from a distance,” he admitted after a long silence. Her fingers squeezed his hand gently. 

×××

 

“What do you think you can achieve from this long journey along the coast?” he asked finally as she leant against him exhausted and weak.

“What did you think that you could achieve by travelling along the shores from the Northern wastes to Far Harad?” she retorted acidly, her temper frayed by the fatiguing journey.

“I had nothing better to do with my time,” he said bluntly. “Whereas, I am sure that you could appeal to Lord Mandos to return you to Tirion. You should. Time spent in my company shall not reflect in a good light upon you,” he finished soberly.

×××

 

Nights were cold and harsh. She would often wish wistfully that there was something she could crawl underneath to shelter herself from the elements. Hórëon’s insistence on sleeping under the wagon did not seem that offensive now. She often wondered if Maglor felt the weather as harshly as he did. His body seemed to radiate heat even in the coldest weather. Perhaps he was merely more inured to the climates since he had endured them for long decades.

“Shall someone come to search for you?” he broke into her thoughts.

“No,” she said distractedly as she watched a shooting star making its way across the heavens. “The captain of Finarfin’s guard had been my companion on the journey till the highest outpost on the other side of the mountains. He promised to wait two weeks before returning to Tirion. It seems an age ago, and yet it was but yesterday.” She shook her head calmly, “I don’t think I wish to return and join the well-meaning, but cowardly people of Tirion. All they do is beg the Valar.”

“Well…” he drawled with a languid, aristocratic accent that made her smile. The years of loneliness had not worn down his quaint, courtly mannerisms. “Not everyone can be as courageous as you are, Lady Celebrían. Your tale across the country to seek Mandos will be the stuff of lore and lays.”

“The Lay of Celebrían indeed!” she laughed at what she considered his very fanciful imagination. “I wasn’t courageous. I was merely trying to find out your fate.”

“I never exaggerate,” he exclaimed in wounded pride.

“No, but you do flatter. I suppose that is why my mother was infatuated with you!” she laughed in satisfaction as she saw a deep flush blooming across his pale cheeks. He stared at her in wild astonishment, his eyes holding deep surprise and embarrassment. 

“My dear Celebrían,” he said in clipped tones as she doubled up in laughter, “I am ever so glad that I serve as your prime entertainment!”

She attempted to cease laughing, but seeing his honest discomfort she dissolved into peals of mirth again. 

The expression on his face was priceless that she hugged him impishly and whispered, “I cannot fault her taste in lovers.”

He groaned in exasperation and tapped his knuckles gently against her forehead in a show of remonstrance before stalking away, his back ramrod straight in displeasure. A smile lit her features as she ran after him, the sand trickling finely through her toes.

×××

 

She woke lazily, stretching her limbs in a feline manner. A pang of sadness shot through her as her tummy curved in when she breathed. I will not think of that, she resolved furiously. She cast her eyes about for distraction and found none. Wondering where her companion had got to, she rose and patted her hair down before wandering off to search for him. She smiled as she came upon a small lagoon. A dark haired head bobbed up and down.

“So like his son.” She muttered to herself as she sat down on a rock and slid her legs into the sun-warmed water.

He turned to see her and smiled in greeting. “Join me? You look as if you needed a bath even at the cost of your soul.”

“I’d rather not.” She huffed disdainfully. “I have never been fond of swimming.”

“Nor is your mother,” he offered easily as he dunked his head to wash the matted hair. 

She rolled her eyes and began examining their surroundings. The sea had become less murky as they progressed south. The land had given away from rocky unevenness into long stretches of white sandy expanses. With half-closed eyes, she languidly let her gaze wander south…and gasped.

For, at the very end of her line of sight, stood what was unmistakably a lighthouse. She exclaimed and rose to her feet in shock.

From behind her, she could hear a concerned voice, “What is it, ‘Bria?”

She did not reply, but waited until he shrugged into his tattered robes and hastened to her side. Water drenched her clothes as it trailed down his hair. She grasped him by the sleeve with her left hand and pointed to the tower with her right hand. 

×××

 

“It seems deserted,” she remarked as she stared up at the winding staircase which spiraled into a tiny landing. 

Maglor grunted and touched the cold stone, his brows furrowed. After a moment he replied, “It has been deserted for a long time. We shall not probably find anything of use there.”

“How can you know that by merely touching the bricks?” she asked dubiously.

He gave her a patronizing smile before his features morphed into alarm. Strong hands came to grip her shoulders and pulled her back forcefully. The next instant a pile of stones crumbled from the top of the staircase. Before she could do little more than gasp in shock the ground shook beneath her feet. Maglor’s arms lifted her off the ground and she was gathered to his chest. Instinctively, her arms went about his neck as he ran swiftly away from the crumbling building.

“Are you well?” he asked panting as he helped her to her feet.

The ground shook beneath them. Thunder and lightning played cruelly in the skies. Then Galadriel knew that the wrath of the Gods was upon her family. She was grateful for Maglor’s reassuring hand about her wrist. And Mandos appeared, bearing with him their doom.

“Hail, Prince Canafinwë!” a deep voice that Celebrían hated heralded the arrival of Mandos. 

“Mandos.” Maglor’s voice was proud and fearless as he regarded the sable form before them. Celebrían tried to prevent the hot tears of anger that threatened to flow down her cheeks. Her hands instinctively curled over her belly.

Mandos said sharply, “A life for a life, Lady Celebrían. You knew it when you embarked on your mad scheme.”

“She did not,” Maglor said crisply. “You should have told her the exact consequences. Don’t tell me that you couldn’t have prevented her from her actions. You could have, at every single instant since she had embarked on this journey.”

“I see that your tongue has lost none of its haughty sharpness. Come now with me for Manwë shall judge you,” the deep voice said without sympathy.

“If I refuse to, you cannot do anything.” Maglor raised his eyebrows. “You have done everything in your power to break me, Mandos. Accept the fact that you have failed. Now, if there remains the least spark of good in you, take the lady to her grandfather.”

“She is to be judged, for seeking out one of the condemned,” Mandos said apathetically.

Celebrían flinched. She had never given a thought to that. All her bravado fled her and she asked in a squeaky voice, “What wrong was there in seeking out my kin?”

“Many unspoken laws have you broken.” The harsh gaze of Mandos penetrated her soul and clawed out all her thoughts.

“Let her go free,” Maglor said quietly, his eyes glittering in determination, “and I will give in to what you wish.”

Celebrían gasped and turned to argue with Maglor, but he stalled her unspoken sentences with a brisk wave of his hand. She looked away sickly as a triumphant, disgusting emotion flashed across their antagonist’s face. The dark joy of finally conquering an enemy, that was what Mandos’s features betrayed.

×××

 

“You look terrified,” Maglor said kindly as they were brought before the large palace of Tanequetil. “Don’t worry, ‘Bria. I will not let anything happen to you. I swear.”

She did not reply. She was trying to conceal the shivering of her fingers. All around them were elves, whispering and pointing at them with barely concealed curiosity…and anger, she observed with a pang of fear.

“Kinslayer!” 

One of the elves nearest the scaffold on which they stood shouted loudly. Celebrían flinched and pulled back from the edge of the wooden platform. Maglor’s arm closed over her shoulders and gathered her to him. She glanced up into his eyes fearfully. His gaze was cold steel as he brought his lips to her forehead in a gesture of reassurance. The whispers of the crowd increased as the doors of the palace opened with a resounding thud. Celebrían stiffened as Eonwë walked towards the platform, his granite expression impressing upon her the gravity of the situation.

He briskly walked up the stairs and strode towards them, his eyes dark with anger and an emotion she could not place.

“Lord Herald.” She was surprised to hear the faintest trace of politeness in Maglor’s voice as he greeted Eonwë.

Eonwë did not look pleased at all. He hissed furiously in Quenya, a language that she had never been proficient in. But her limited vocabulary picked out words ‘child’, ‘life’, ‘sea’ and ‘Mandos’. She did not need to know Quenya to make the connection.

Maglor looked across at her worriedly before speaking to Eonwë, “Why am I not taken to the Mahanaxar for judgment?”

Celebrían shivered, the Circle of Judgment? She had heard gloomy tales from folklore, of a dark cavern where one’s soul would be stripped of its defenses and laid bare before the Gods. 

“Because,” Eonwë said quietly, “your life is now bound by loyalty to your saviour. And she has done no kinslaying and hence does not deserve the darkness of Mahanaxar. So says Varda.”

Maglor opened his mouth to speak sharply, but Celebrían cut in, “I am grateful for that, my lords.”

“You are a foolish woman.” Eonwë made his anger very clear in his words as he glared at her. 

“I know.” She did not hesitate to add, “And being a fool is more forgivable than being a coward.”

A strong gust of wind rippled through her tangled hair and she had to lean back against Maglor to steady herself.

“He comes.” Eonwë turned away, contriving to brush his hand against Celebrían’s wrist. “I must perform my duty as the herald.”

Maglor turned Celebrían to face him and placed his palms over her cheeks before saying quietly, “You will let me speak.”

“No.” Her voice did not shake, she realized. Had she become as reckless as her mother? Then a loud trumpet sounded in the wind, and she shivered. She was not as reckless as Galadriel, she mused wryly.

“Manwë is no lenient judge, ‘Bria.” Maglor’s voice was tinted with bitterness. “Whatever you say, he will not grant me clemency. Trust me, and let me speak.”

She opened her mouth to retort but at the same instant she saw a golden haired elf speaking earnestly with Eonwë.

“Grandfather…” she began, but another gust of wind halted her words. From the palace emerged the Valar. Celebrían stiffened as the crowds hushed and stepped back to let the Gods assume their seats on the raised platform across the scaffold.

“Hail Manwë!” the crowds fervently exclaimed. “Hail Varda!”

Eonwë stepped forth and silence fell. He cleared his throat and began to speak. “Here now we have gathered to witness the judgment of a condemned kinslayer and of one who sought to aid him at the cost of her unborn child’s life.” 

An almighty murmur of approval rose from the teeming hundreds gathered there. Celebrían wondered if Galadriel would be as serene as ever if she had been there to witness the hatred people bore their house. She wondered what her father would say. She wondered why Eonwë seemed unhappy. She did her best to pretend that she had not heard the words used to describe her.

One who sought to aid him at the cost of her unborn child’s life…

“Kneel before the Gods and pay your obeisance.” Eonwë’s voice was harsh and filled with warning as he glared at Maglor.

“I see no reason why that would help my cause,” Maglor remarked acerbically. Celebrían tugged at his sleeve worriedly as a stir rose in the crowd. She feared that his bitter words might be mistaken for haughtiness.

“Prince Macalaurë Fëanorion.” Varda rose from her seat and walked forward, her hair waving in curls about her beautiful face. “Would you kneel to me? Would you show me the same courtesy that your brother did that fateful day?” **

His face blanched and he staggered backward. Celebrían wrapped her fingers around his hand and in her restraining grip, his arm fell limp. He did not protest as she gently tugged him down to his knees.

“I see that loneliness has made you malleable to obedience.” Manwë’s voice was cold and sardonic. 

Celebrían glanced up at Maglor. He seemed to warring something deep within him and snarled as he snatched his hand away from her grip and rose to his feet, proud and defiant. Manwë’s eyes narrowed. 

But Eonwë broke in hastily, “Now that you have paid your respects, you may rise.”

Celebrían obeyed quietly. She instinctively sought out the dark-haired mass of people to her right. The Noldor. Many of them were silently weeping, their fingers clenched to their breasts and their heads bowed in emotion. She could see a proud, brown-haired woman standing next to Carnilote and Melorian, both of whom were crying. As she met the gaze of that woman, she understood who she was.

“My mother.” Maglor’s broken whisper came a mere moment after her realization. 

“You will answer my questions with a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’, Prince Macalaurë,” Eonwë spoke clearly.

Thus it began. Eonwë’s cold voice asking the questions and Maglor’s musical tones crisply answering.

“Did you follow your father into exile?”  
“Yes.”

“Did you hearken to your father’s mad speech when Finwë was murdered?”  
“Yes.”

“Did you swear a blood oath to kill Melkor beside your brothers?”  
“Yes.”

“Did you kill mariners at Alqualondë?”  
Whispers rose in the crowd as the answer came calmly, “Yes.”

“These were your crimes under the jurisdiction of the Valar. You shall be judged for them first.”

“I wish to speak.” Maglor’s voice was painfully musical in its earnestness.

Manwë shook his head firmly, but Varda intervened, “Indeed, we grant you permission. Let it not be ever said that the Valar were unfair.”

“What I have done in the past cannot be condoned by those who were unaware of the circumstances. Nor do I seek forgiveness. I did what I would do again if I were to be in the same situation--”

“KINSLAYER!” the crowds shouted, “CONDEMN HIM TO THE VOID!”

A gesture from Varda silenced the shouts to angry whispers. Maglor continued, “I have no fear of the judgment. Do with me what you may. I don’t think that you can break my will. But I would gladly surrender myself, body and soul, to your whims if you let Celebrían free.”

Celebrían began to speak, but Maglor trod down sharply upon her foot. She gasped even as Manwë stood from his seat and walked forward, his features deep in contemplation.

“Mean you what you say?” he asked quietly.

“When has one of my blood broken a word? We pay oaths and promises in full.” Maglor’s voice was filled with weary defiance. “My deal is acceptable to you, Manwë. It is your long-held desire come true. You wish for my surrender. You shall have it now.”

“I warn you that you shall be at our bidding, through and through.” Manwë said quietly, regarding Maglor’s proud form in satisfaction.

Celebrían gripped Maglor’s arm tightly as she heard him speak in glacial calm, “I will crawl and lick your feet if you command me to. But let her free.”

“Eonwë, escort the young woman to her grandfather. High-King Arafinwë, please do ensure that your charge does not embark on such folly again. Though, it must be said that her foolishness has brought a Fëanorion to his knees before those whom he has defied for ages.”

Celebrían turned to face Maglor. His eyes met hers for a fraction of a moment before he said quietly, “I will be alright. Go on, please. I could never survive the thought of you being condemned alongside me. It will break whatever fragile hope I have.”

And she could only cry silently as Eonwë led her away firmly. She was handed over to Carnilote, who embraced her and held her close as she began sobbing in grief. 

“My son will not break, brave woman. He is too like his father.” The weight of conviction in Nerdanel’s words broke Celebrían again.

What had she wrought? What had she foolishly dreamt that she could achieve? She had brought a proud soul to its breaking. 

“Perhaps you could begin by what your imagination suggested not moments before,” Manwë spoke to Maglor.

Celebrían tried to tear her gaze away. But her mind forced her to watch the scene unfold. She deserved to watch and grieve. Had she not wrought it? She bit her lips to silence her crying as Manwë walked to stand before Maglor. In a single, graceful movement, Maglor knelt down and bowed his head deeply that his forehead touched the wooden boards of the scaffold. Tattered garments and tangled hair detracted not an inch from his innate hauteur.

“Oh, Mother!” Celebrían cried as she saw the degrading spectacle unfold before her eyes, “What would you have done to save him?”

 

“The Valar love deals, particularly when the deals are sweetened by the surrender of their victims. Perhaps, at the moment, Manwë would grant anything to a person who agrees to bring me to trial,” Galadriel spoke to Mithrandir as they walked along the River Nimrodel.

 

“My Lords!” Celebrían rushed to the scaffold, “I can offer you a deal!”

“Your mother speaks through you,” Manwë said suspiciously. “I sense Artanis in your thoughts.”

“I will deliver my mother for trial. I swear to do so!” Celebrían exclaimed fervently. “But you must release Lord Maglor. That is my stipulation.”

Manwë turned to face her and spoke quietly, “Would you rather that I forgave a kinslayer and accepted this deal to bring a woman who is fading anyway?”

“My mother is not weak. She can resist all that you contrive to bring her here. And I am sure that she will continue to do so till the end of the world.” Celebrían felt fear, hope and desperation tugging her soul as she continued imploringly, “But she will come. I will bring her to you. Lord Maglor killed for a cause. My mother’s crimes might weigh more in your just eyes, Lord Manwë.”

Whispers arose in the crowd and she felt tendrils of the wind suspiciously feeling her. She tried to convey her sincerity in her gaze as she looked up at Manwë.

Finally, he spoke quietly, “So be it. Rise, kinslayer and be gone on your way.”

Celebrían sighed in relief and rushed to the scaffold to kneel beside Maglor and grip his wrists. Manwë turned back and said ominously, “But I have a condition.”

She looked up at him frightened.

“He shall never sing from today. He shall not speak either. If he does so, I will retract my clemency, Lady Celebrían.” 

Voices of protest arose from the Noldor. But Celebrían could only nod and say softly, “I understand your terms, Milord.”

×××

 

Three years later.  
Tirion.

 

“Would you like me to fetch you a wagon?” she asked Hórëon mischievously as she came upon him trying to catnap under the vines. 

“No.” He winked at her and rushed away to his duties. 

She laughed merrily and walked on, letting the rich, heady scent of the grapes assail her senses. An arm creepily looped about her waist and she smiled as she leant against the frame to her right.

“It is a warm day,” she remarked as she brought a ripe grape to his mouth.

She wished that she could hear his voice, just once more. But it was not possible. She gripped his fingers and kissed them. He gathered her hands in his own and turned her around. She laughed as he guided her through the slow movements of a ballroom dance, their bodies swaying to unheard music. 

It was then that she realized that music would never forego him, not when he had given himself entirely to it from the very beginning of his life. 

“A song is not solely that which is sung by our voices,” she spoke softly as she rested her head against his chest. His lips came to bestow a paternal kiss on her forehead.

 

Galadriel wore a weary, but infinitely proud smile as Celeborn brought their newborn babe to her.

“She looks so like you,” she whispered quietly as she took the child into her arms.

“My bundle of light.” Celeborn agreed as he knelt by the bed and watched the baby suckle her mother’s breast. 

“And light is not solely that which shines from the skies. The brightest is the light of your soul, for only it has no shadow,” Galadriel murmured softly to the drowsy child who was gurgling.

“Is that a prophecy?” Celeborn’s fingers played in Galadriel’s hair as he leant to kiss his daughter’s cheek.

“She is our light, my dear Silver Tree, damn the prophecies.”Galadriel’s rich laughter brought a smile to his lips.

 

“My mother loved me!” Celebrían stepped back in horror. Maglor smiled and drew her into his arms as she began to cry for the many ways in which she had cruelly misjudged her mother. She would make up for it, if it was the last thing she did.

×××

 

She would walk along the shore. Sometimes Finarfin or Hórëon would accompany her. Maglor was polite, but firm in refusing his company. Apparently he had had enough of the sandy coastline for an eternity and more.

And she would often cast her gaze east. She would wonder about the woman who had given birth to her. She would think wistfully of all the chances that she had frittered away. Often when she was in her deepest thoughts, a soothing tendril of her mother’s memories would calm her.

And she would return to her grandfather’s home in renewed spirits. She would never have her mother’s courage. But she was determined to do all that she could. 

Faint notes played on harp strings resounded in the air. She smiled as she walked towards her grandfather who had closed his eyes and was now listening to the music quietly. The musician stood in the centre of the room, his gaze distant as his fingers played of their own accord on the harp.

“He sings through the notes.” Finarfin murmured quietly as he sensed his grandchild beside him. “I cannot believe it.”

“That comment would earn you a scathing glare from your understandably vain nephew.” Celebrían chuckled as she settled on a large couch by the fireside.

“I meant that I cannot believe he is safe. I cannot believe that you are safe. I cannot believe that both of you have willed yourselves to go on. I am proud of you.” He shook his head as he came to stand before her. “I did truly believe that I would never see any of them again. You know not the depth of your generosity.”

“Your daughter might have spared him more.” She shrugged uneasily. “I did what I could. It is all that matters.”

Maglor’s music shifted into softer tones. It painted an image of youth and love, of innocence and hope. Celebrían smiled as she recognized it as one of the Sindarin wooing songs that she loved to hear. 

His eyes twinkled as they met her gaze and he played the stanza with an extravagant flourish that made her burst out in laughter. His gaze became introspective as he varied his notes, building his tempo slowly. Celebrían and Finarfin listened astounded as Maglor continued to cascade soulful strains effortlessly. Then all of a sudden, it ceased and there was silence followed by what had to be the most severe strains that the harp had been subjected to. Tears began to escape her eyes as she thought of her unborn child, but the tunes changed and it was once more the serene, lilting melody that had enticed them earlier.

“The Shadow of Light.” Finarfin spoke reverently, “He was to have performed it during Fëanor’s return to Tirion after the exile in Formenos. It was a much talked of composition. I had only snippets of it. He had been saving it for the occasion…” his voice trailed away miserably as he brooded upon the past.

Celebrían gently pressed her fingers over his hand. But she was wrapped up in the music. It carried her along. It reminded her of the fresh dew-adorned grass of Lothlorien, of the verdant forests of Greenwood, of the winding paths and sharp winds of the Misty Mountains, of the bustling halls of Lindon, of the calm of Imladris and of the busy port of Mithlond. She closed her eyes and she could see them; the people she had left behind. She could hear her father’s soothing tone, Erestor’s musical voice, Elrond’s calm, reassuring tone and her sons’ impatient, young voices…and her mother’s voice. She sighed as the music lifted her into transcendence, the waves of the notes crashing down upon her mind. 

And with a rising crescendo, the music tapered off into serene peace. She opened her eyes to find Maglor bowing to her, a smile on his handsome, aristocratic features.

“Thank you,” she whispered, unable to say any more.

“He was right to have waited. The composition renders justice to all that you are.” Finarfin’s words were filled with pride. 

Maglor nodded at his uncle’s words solemnly, his dark eyes glittering with emotion.

Celebrían hoped that she would one day find that serene peace which Maglor’s composition had ended on.

 

“What is hope, Macalaure, what is hope to us?”Galadriel asked him distraught as they parted. He would sail and she would return to wage her lonely battle

“Hope sees the invisible, feels the intangible and achieves the impossible.” He smiled wistfully. “Hope is the very air we breathe, Artanis, it gives us the courage to take the next step forward.”

 

Hope, Celebrían thought silently, that is what it is all about.

And she would hope.

×××

* * *

References:

The Song of Sunset Chapter 68: The End of An Age.  
The Journal of Maglor Chapter 11 – In which Varda meets Maedhros and Maglor before they attack the camp of Eonwë to reclaim the jewels.

* * *


End file.
